


Second Hand

by janetcarter



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23923582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janetcarter/pseuds/janetcarter
Summary: The body she inhabited never gave her what she wanted, and so she had to take it for herself.
Kudos: 7
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Second Hand

**Author's Note:**

> For the Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt "Sensory Deprivation." 
> 
> Once again, warning for descriptions of self harm. Please don't read if it will trigger you.

Cooking dinner was her latest attempt.

She knew, logically, what foods Talia's body liked, but she'd hardly gotten to use those senses for herself. Besides, she wasn't Talia. She never had been, and if giving herself bangs or moving planets hadn't made her life feel like hers, she had to find other ways.

So while waiting for the water to boil, she chopped up the vegetables-- _fresh_ vegetables, a bonus of earth residency--and dropped the diced cubes onto her tongue.

Tasting them herself was nice, she supposed, but it wasn't spectacular. The flavors didn't splash onto her tongue or awaken her senses. They just locked into the body's old gustatory memories, which were blander than she could've imagined.

Why did she expect this to be any different? It was the same with everything - sight, smell, hearing, _touch_. No matter how new an experience was to her, it was as boring as breathing to the body. Sexual pleasure was the only thing that made her feel close to alive, but this wasn't living.

She frowned, clicked off the stove, and scraped the cutting board's contents into the trash. Her appetite was gone.

-

Apart from dulled senses, something she had not been prepared for was the tedious amount of bruises the body would accumulate; seemingly out of nowhere. It was _her_ body now, shouldn't she have control over it? Shouldn't she at least remember what had marked her skin? Certainly _she_ thought she should, but her body couldn't go a week without summoning a purple splotch on her hip or wrist or arm, and taunting her with memories she didn't have.

Eventually, while pressing into a yellowish-green bruise on her leg, a twisted sense of satisfaction drizzled over the drought in her nerves. Pain seemed to be the one thing the body responded to freely. It even rewarded her with a lovely little rush of endorphins.

The weakness of flesh needn't always be a burden, she realized. In fact, it could be incredibly advantageous if given the chance.

-

She didn't plan on eating dinner that night, but she found herself in the kitchen anyway. While searching for the right knife she ignored the clattering of the rest, and headed to the bathroom.

The Corps would deem her unfit if they found out. She could hide the memories from deep-scans, which her "obedience" usually helped her avoid, but the physical evidence would certainly be an issue.

Gloves could hide the wrists nicely. Medical gowns would not. However, they usually did hide the inner thighs...

When her tights and dress hit the floor, she remembered why she avoided the mirror. The birthmark below her rib had been there long before she had, and the stretch marks on her thighs had been grown by someone else.

She sat down on the edge of the tub. Why did she only deserve something so _used?_

The tip of the knife traced over skin. She'd worked so hard for her freedom and it had hardly been worth the cost; the deprivation, the isolation, the _darkness._

Her teeth clenched as the blade pressed harder. Was destroying her _trophy_ really the only way?

She flung the knife to the side and a fist hammered down on her thigh. A grimace was quickly overtaken by an inhale, sharp from the shock of ecstasy. It rushed over her body in waves, pulsing in rhythm with the wound.

At the moment it was red. She'd never seen that stage before, only ever a deep purple or faded yellow-green. She watched in fascination as it developed, pressing down on the surrounding skin to get a better look. Finally, she was able to see her body's growth for herself - and soak in its pleasures without the hindrance of the old.

A temporary mark was a small price to pay to finally feel free.


End file.
